


Tugging Sleeves

by Windschild8178



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Ron Weasley, Created for the Ron Defense Squad, Everything is Cannon, Gen, Mother Hen Ron Weasley, Ron to the rescue, Weasley Brother feels, pure fluff, smidge angst, weasley is our king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windschild8178/pseuds/Windschild8178
Summary: Ron struggles with what to do when he realizes that there can only be terrible reasons for why Harry isn’t responding to his letters. Little does he know that Ron’s distress is just as worrying for his family.





	Tugging Sleeves

**Author's Note:**

> Weasley Is Our King Tag is officially a NO RON BASHING look for. From now on, if you guys have a story based around Ron or one that does not bash his character, I highly recommend putting #Weasley Is Our King in the tags so that we Ron lovers know that its a safe zone. 
> 
> This is Prompt #1
> 
> writergirl101  
> I would love a fanfic that shows Ron before he went off to rescue Harry from the Dursley’s. How worried he was when he wouldn’t answer and how he convinced Fred and George to steal the car.

 

**Tugging Sleeves**

 

Ron thinks he knows Harry well enough to know he was the type to love getting something like a letter. Ron knows Harry didn’t have friends before Hogwarts. He knows his cousin was as real dirt bag to him and made other kids not want to come near him. It makes a tight ball of fury curls in his gut, but he knows there’s not really anything that he could do about that.

  
He writes a letter every week.

Okay, maybe like, three times a week. He's excited. 

  
Harry has his own owl and yet no letter ever came back.

  
“You’re doing that thing again,” George said, grabbing two bread rolls from the table and pointed at his own sleeves. Ron grimaced, looking down to see that his hand had been pulling at the sleeves. The cloth stretched and the edges of his shirt frayed now from all his tugging. He let go, scowling as he realized that he was running out of decent shirts. And it was his own fault.

  
George didn’t ask what was the matter, just patted him on the head in a vague show of fondness and rushed back up the stairs. Ron watched him, fingers touching the sleeve of his shirt before he mentally scolded himself and put his hands in his pockets.

* * *

 

  
Back when he’d first met Harry, Ron hadn’t quite known what the right thing to do was. His family went on and on about not judging people for their blood status and to befriend everyone based on their personality and actions rather than their background and status. Ron could do that.

  
But it seemed kind of wrong to ignore where Harry came from too.

  
“So, you said you were raised by muggles right?”

  
Harry nodded, looking through one of Ron’s magazines with fascination as moving pictures and ads vied for his attention.

  
“Is there anything you want to know then?” Harry looked up, his head tilted a bit as he gave Ron a blank stare. Ron shuffled nervously, suddenly uncertain. “I mean… I know muggles don’t think witches and wizards are real, but they do sort of know about them… as stories and legends and such…” Ron motion to show all the things he didn’t really know too much about. So it was a big hand motion. “Do you have any questions about the things you’ve seen or…”

  
He felt relief as he saw Harry shaking his head, sitting up in the bed and giving Ron his full attention.

  
“I do, actually, why do wizards wear robes?”

  
Ron blinked, trying to process the question, before stifling a grin. He didn’t want Harry to think he was laughing at him.

  
“Oh! Those are the more traditional families. I think it has something to do with practicality? Like, robes are easier to attach charms and spells to than pants and shirts because every time there’s a division by stitches, you have to create new spells to cover those areas. So a robe just needs one, but pants and shirts need a lot more.”

  
Harry nodded slowly, looking fascinated.

  
“What sort of stuff do you put on clothes?”

  
“Warming and cooling charms for winters and summer,” Ron said slowly, “anti-moth warding spells, anti-aging spells, er, well, not aging, more like wearing down? We’ve all got those on our clothes.”

  
This last part was muttered a bit bitterly, though he didn’t mean to. He was pretty sure he was wearing clothes that Bill and Percy had both worn in their second year. He hadn’t been able to fit Fred and George’s and Charlie’s since they were such a different build than himself.

  
“The Aurors wear cooler things though,” Ron added excitedly. “They wear bits of armor under their close that can rebound spells or defend against them and shielding spells. Its really wicked.”

  
“What’s an Auror?” Harry asked.

  
Ron hummed under his breath.

  
“I think its what you would consider a PO-Lise?”

  
“Police?” Harry repeated, nodding slowly.

  
Ron blushed, but nodded. Despite his dad working in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, he really hadn’t had much exposure to muggles themselves or the way their government and people worked. So it seemed he had as much to learn about muggles as Harry did about their own world.

  
“What are the muggles like?” Ron asked.

  
Harry squirmed under his gaze and Ron suddenly felt like he’d said something he shouldn’t. He’d heard other kids his age ask muggleborns some really terrible questions like: Are muggles as stupid as the papers make them out to be? Or something like… Do you not know how to do anything? You’re going to be so behind because of those muggle barbarians. Are you scared?

  
He hadn’t thought his question was bad, but watching the way Harry seemed intent on not meeting his eye, maybe it was.

  
“Its okay,” Ron rushed to say, “sorry, I didn’t mean to… um, we don’t have to talk about that at all. We’ve got Gobstones, it’s a pretty wicked game and I’m sure we can rope Seamus and Dean and Neville into playing with us?”

  
Harry’s smile wobbled and he nodded.

  
“Sure, that sounds fun.”

* * *

 

  
~~If you need help~~

  
~~If you aren’t allowed to send letters, then send Hedwig~~

  
~~I can come get you~~

  
~~If you don’t like to write letters that’s cool. I’ll just send~~

  
~~Please respond~~

  
~~Are we still friends?~~

Ron growled in frustration, stabbing at the paper hard enough that a hole formed. Of course they were friends. Harry was the best. Always up for a game. Talking late into the night. Struggling through coursework with each other. Talking about magical creatures and weird muggle laws and strange wizarding customs.

  
Fighting trolls. Figuring out the mystery that was the third floor. Babysitting dragons and talking with Hagrid over tea and boulder cookies. Flying lessons and Potion mishaps. Facing McGonagall’s wrath and… and…

~~Are the muggles hurting you?~~

  
~~Are you okay?~~

Ron paused as he realized his sleeve had a hole in it now. He idly stuck his thumb through it, staring off into the distance as he crumbled his attempt at letters up. He looked around his room, feeling a bit helpless and unsure.

  
Harry was a great friend, but was Ron?

  
He wasn’t really interesting, was he? There were a ton of people at Hogwarts who were a lot better to hang out with than Ron. Funnier. Smarter. He glanced at Hermione’s letters. She told him that Harry wasn’t responding to her letters either. That fact washed away the tiny ball of insecurity.

  
Something was wrong.

  
Something was stopping Harry from writing back to them.

* * *

 

  
That shirt was ridiculously large on Harry. Ron frowned as he stared at the XXL clothes Harry was folding. Those clothes looked like they would be loose on Charlie who was a eighteen, broad shouldered Quidditch Captain who now worked with dragons.

  
Ron fingered his own night shirt that was a little too small on him.

  
“Hey, hey, Harry,” Ron called out carefully.

  
Harry turned to him, not saying a word, Ron learned that meant Harry was listening and that Ron had his full attention even though he didn’t make any noise in the positive.

  
“I was thinking,” he said slowly, carefully, trying not to offend. “Your shirts a too big on you right?”

  
Harry frowned at him, glancing back at the ridiculously large clothes.

  
“Mine are too small. Why don’t we trade a few of our shirts?” Ron said every so carefully. His clothes would fit Harry a lot better.

  
Harry for his part looked as if he was seriously considering it. Eyeing Ron’s clothes before eyeing Ron in that scrutinizing manner that always made him feel uncomfortable. Unlike with most people though, Harry never seemed to find him lacking.

  
“These are way too big for you too,” Harry noted.

  
Ron shrugged.

  
“Better to be too big than too small.”

  
Harry seemed to find this to be sound logic because soon enough Ron was handing Harry several of the shirts and shorts he had that cinched him and cut off his circulation. The too large clothes were in rather good condition, actually, and Ron appreciated how the soft material was not a struggle to get on at all. Though he had to constantly pulled one side up so that his collarbone and shoulders weren’t showing. They did not look so ridiculous on Ron’s lanky form that they did on Harry’s much smaller frame.

  
And Harry was wearing something that actually fit him.

  
Ron laughed a bit at just how wide the shirt he was wearing was.

  
“They didn’t actually think you’d grow into this, did they?” Ron asked, pulling it away from him. “This is like four of you.”

  
Harry glanced at him, that familiar small frown marring his face.

  
“No, they’re hand me downs from Dudley,” Harry said with a grimace.

  
“Oh.”

  
Ron knew how awkward that was. To wear someone else’s hand me downs. When you never got to pick anything out that actually fit you well and everything was always too short or too long or too small or too scratchy.

  
“It seems like you don’t really like your cousin?” Ron asked softly. Trying not to touch on something Harry didn’t want to talk about, but really, really curious by this point.

  
“He’s…” Harry hesitated, but he looked at Ron with this sort of trust, like he knew Ron wouldn’t say anything about it and that made Ron feel rather warm inside. “He’s a spoiled rotten brat and right mean. He’s… a lot like Draco but dumber and fatter.”

  
“Sorry,” it was Ron’s turn to grimace. “It must suck to live with someone so awful. Family can kind of be nasty some times. Aunt Muriel’s a real piece of work.”

  
“Yeah?” Harry asked, clearly wanting to divert the conversation from his own family issues “How so?”

  
Ron grinned, happily obliging.

  
“Well, there was this one time, before Bill got a job as a Curse Breaker, that she announced that the Weasley side of the family was made up of a bunch of untalented pureblood disgraces and that none of us kids were going to amount to anything,” Ron said dramatically. “And Bill’s not prone to bragging so no one knew he’d made Head Boy and of course, when you make Head Boy or Girl here at Hogwarts, you get a visit from Dumbledore himself at your house!”

  
Harry settled in, eyes dancing with expectation and excitement.

  
Ron wasn’t going to disappoint.

* * *

 

  
“Sweetie?” Molly Weasley said carefully. “Ronnie, are you not sleeping well?”

  
He felt a hand cup his chin and turn him to face her. He had his head down at the breakfast table, half asleep. No. He had not been sleeping well at all. All he could imagine when he went to sleep was the face of a fat, dumb version of Draco Malfoy harassing Harry and pushing him into walls and saying mean things and Harry not being bale to use magic to defend himself. All he could think about was how Harry’s Aunt and Uncle were taking away his letters like they had for Harry’s Hogwarts Welcome Letter.

  
Ron hummed, his eyelids feeling heavy and his breakfast getting cold. He hadn’t really been hungry lately and he knew that more than anything else would make his mum worry. He forced himself to finish his plate, as he watched his mum make him a cup of tea, spooning too much honey into the cup before handing it over.

  
“Why don’t you finish up here and have a kip on the couch, Ronnie?”

  
Ron hummed, taking a sip of tea and feeling the warm liquid seep some life back into him.

  
“Thanks, mum.”

  
She gave him an uncertain once over. Ever since he’d gotten back from school she’d been watching him closely, as if his ‘shaninigans’ as she put it, with the Chess Set and getting a concussion would make him spontaneously com-bust.

  
“Mum,” Ron said carefully, “I was wondering…”

  
“What? Speak up, dear.”

  
“Can we got visit my friend?” Ron blurted out, feeling rather anxious as he tightened his hold on the tea cup.

  
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t floo over there.” Molly said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you sent a letter and ask? Where do they live?”

  
Ron fiddled nervously, tugging at his sleeves and pulling at a hems.

  
“Well, you see, the thing is… he lives in Surrey,” Ron said quietly.

  
His mother paused, glancing at him with raised eyebrows.

  
“A muggleborn?” She said slowly.

  
They didn’t travel to the muggle world often. There was no need. They were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight after all. They’d lived in the magical world for centuries and never ventured into the none magical communities. While they were very welcoming of none magical folks, that didn’t really mean they went out of their way to interact with them.

  
“No, half-blood,” Ron corrected, “but he lives with muggle relatives.”

  
“Harry Potter?” His mum said, sounding much more weary and unwilling than she had only a moment ago. “Dear, Ronnie, there are certain rules that we’re expected to follow. No one is supposed to bother Harry Potter at his home.”

  
“But, Harry’s my friend,” Ron protested.

  
He knew, of course, that Harry was ‘the Boy Who Lived,’ and he’d known that his parents had been surprised when he’d talked about Harry. Accepting and happy for him, of course, but with a little bit of… trepidation in their voices.

  
“I’m certain he is,” Molly said slowly, but there was still reluctance in her voice a if she did not one hundred percent believe him. “Harry is a high profile individual though. I’m not sure if we should just be barging into his home.”

  
“I just… he hasn’t been responding to my letters and I’m worried,” Ron admitted.

  
This seemed to do the opposite of what he wanted though.

  
The reluctance suddenly turned to suspicion.

  
“Dear, Ronnie, I know you’ve said he was your best friend, but he might be feeling overwhelmed by all of this.”

  
She was doubting him.

  
Ron bit his lip, his fingers rubbing harder as the stress got the better of him. He wasn’t going to be allowed to visit Harry. He knew Harry never had contact with the magical world before Hogwarts except for Hagrid, but he hadn’t really thought of why that was.

  
“But… I… I don’t think the muggles he lives with are very nice to him,” Ron said weakly. “I just want to make sure he’d okay.”

  
His mum had that look in her eyes now. The look adults got when they thought he was being silly or stupid or that he didn’t understand something.

  
“Ronnie, Dumbledore wouldn’t have placed him in that home if Harry was being mistreated in any way. The muggles might be strict, but I’m sure Harry is fine.”

  
“I don’t…”

  
“Now, why don’t you go lie done and stop worrying so much. Everything will be alright.”

  
Ron wanted to yell that it was not alright, but he knew starting a fight with his mum would only make it seem like he was being childish rather than proving that something needed to be done.  
When he laid down on the couch, he easily fell asleep, but it was not pleasant at all. Instead he dreamed of Harry being dragged off by rough hands and Harry was asking him for his help, but Ron stood there. Doing nothing.

* * *

 

  
“Christmas is almost here,” Ron nudged Harry. “You going home?”

  
Harry laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound at all.

  
“As if the Dursley’s would let me,” Harry muttered. “No, I’m going to stay here.”

  
“By yourself?” Ron asked, brow furrowed. “They wouldn’t let you go home for the holidays?”

  
Harry squirmed under Ron’s gaze, looking to want to be anywhere but there.

  
“Well, its just… they never really wanted me in the first place. We didn’t exactly part on good terms either.”

  
Harry told Ron about the house in the middle of nowhere and Hagrid showing up. His best friend told him about the tense, horrible silence and anger in the few weeks before he left for Hogwarts. It left a grim pictures and Ron knew then that he would not be going home for the holidays.

  
He also knew that he needed to watch out for his friend a little more than he first thought. He distracted Harry with the mystery of Nicolas Flamel and Wizards Chess and Exploding Snaps and Butterbeer fudge sent from home.

  
There was a warm feeling that spread through him when he saw Harry and Hermione smile and beam and laugh. He loved to make them feel good and to see them happy. In that same affect, it made him feel sick to his stomach and hurt when they felt bad or were feeling miserable.

  
They were such brilliant people really and Ron felt lucky to have them, to be able to call them his best friends. It was really quite brilliant to have friends and Ron knew more than anything else that he never wanted to lose them and he never wanted to turn away from them.

  
On Christmas morning as Ron handed Harry the few presents his mum had scrounged up for his best mate, Ron made sure to look Harry in the eye.

  
“You are bloody brilliant, mate, and those muggles are right mad to think otherwise. It’s bollocks what they’ve done and one day they’ll see that.”

  
Harry smiled weakly.

  
“Thanks, Ron, I don’t think they’ll ever change their minds, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now. I mean,” Harry blushed, “I’ve got Hogwarts and I’ve got you as a best mate. And… things are different now. They’re never going to be the same again and that’s good.”

* * *

 

  
“You’re wearing a hole in the carpet, Ron,” Percy said without looking up from his book. “And its distracting me.”

  
Ron rubbed at his sleeve, feeling the cloth roll under his fingers before opening up again and then rolling. Aunt Muriel had stopped by with a face that could make gnomes cry and run for cover. She’d kept his mum running around all afternoon and now everyone was in a bit of a tetchy mood.

  
“What is it with all of these knitting projects all over the place, Molly? It looks as if you are opening up a sweat shop in the middle of your living room!”

  
The old woman barely glanced at Percy or Ron, choosing instead to criticize the grievous amount of fall colors about the place. ‘At least shake things up a bit if you’re going to make a habit of these poorly made scraps! And please refrain from sending me any of these gifts. I have too much rubbish as is.’

  
Then she looked at him as if Ron was part of the rubbish she didn’t want around.

  
He shrunk into himself and moved to sit by Percy whose arm quickly wrapped around him. For once his older brother was looking at Aunt Muriel with a look of indignant disapproval rather than his siblings. Ron pulled his legs up onto the couch and watched carefully as the old woman’s face melted into a full blown scowl.

  
“Has a real heart of a lion, doesn’t he?” She said sarcastically. “Are you absolutely certain he was sorted into Gryffindor?”

  
Percy squeezed his shoulder.

  
“That is quite enough!” His mum snapped, looking like an agitated beehive. “My belongings and my person are one thing, Muriel, but my children are another. I think its time you left.”  
Aunt Muriels cane came down and she clucked, turning away from Ron and Percy with the air of one who was unimpressed.

  
“No Prewitt blood in the lot of them,” Aunt Muriel muttered. “Not a drop.”

  
And then like an overly large bat in a too small cave, she tottered out, sweeping her cloak about her with enough strength that a small brush of wind hit Ron in the face.

  
“Don’t listen to the deranged woman,” Percy muttered into his ear. “She’s distasteful at best.”

  
But she did have a point, didn’t she?

  
He was sitting around, worrying about his friend, and not doing anything to change things. He was more like a kitten and less like a lion. Ron fiddled with his sleeve anxiously, pausing only when he felt Percy’s hands on his stopping the motion.

  
Percy didn’t scold him like the rest of the family was want to. His brother’s thumb rubbed reassuring circles on the back of his hands until Ron’s fingers loosened and let go. His glasses wearing brother made a noise of approval in the back of his throat, tugging Ron closer into a sort of hug as he went back to reading his book.

  
Hearing the front door close with a bang and the sound of his mother’s upset movements in the kitchen, Ron decided that Aunt Muriel had been somewhat right, at least. Ron needed to do more than pace around and worry about his best friend. He needed to do something. He needed to save Harry.

* * *

 

  
“Are you going to be okay?” Ron asked, watching as Harry packed up his trunk with the air of someone getting ready for a funeral. Harry shrugged. Alternating between petting Hedwig fondly and pulling out clothes from the drawers.

  
“I’ll write you letters every week,” Ron promised. “We can write back and forth and the summer will be over before you know it.”

  
Harry smiled that weak, uncertain thing again. All wobbly and tight.

  
“I’d like that a lot.”

  
“I’ll tell you stuff about the wizarding world, alright? And I’ll send you magazine clippings and Quidditch news and…”

  
Ron paused in surprise as he felt Harry’s arms through themselves around him. He didn’t hesitate as he hugged Harry back.

  
“And Hermione will tell you all about how she’s finished her homework on the first night and now she doesn’t know what to do with herself because she won’t be going to buy more textbooks form school until mid summer.”

  
Harry laughed.

  
“And then we’ll hear all about how she’s already finished the books in the muggle library three summers ago and this really won’t do at all.”

  
“Stop!” Harry wheezed, trying to stifle his snickering.

  
“And then I’ll send her magazines too and she’ll be both pleased and annoyed because this is ‘just utter trash, Ronald, really.’ How could I possibly believe ‘social dilemmas for the witch’s coven’ would interest her?”

  
Harry let go, taking one of the robes he’d just packed up and hitting Ron with it.

  
“Mr. Potter,” Ron did his best impersonation of McGonagall, “that is not what we use robes for.”

  
Across the room, Seamus was snickering too. Ron started, having forgotten the Irish boy was there at all.

  
“We really must do something about your disrespect for wizarding uniforms! Where is your hat? Please tell me you remembered to retrieve it from the great hall after the feast! It is imperative it is kept in a clean, uncluttered environment! Which most certainly does not mean the floor of your dorms."

  
Seamus cackled and Harry looked fit to kill over, he was so red in the face.

  
“Errol is really old,” Ron said in a more serious tone. Apologetic. “So he’ll have to rest when he gets there. It would be best if we mostly used Hedwig.”

  
“She’ll need to get out to exercise anyways,” Harry told him, looking giddy and much more light hearted than before. “Make sure to give pet her on the back of her neck when she comes though, because she gets cranky otherwise.”

  
“Oh, no worries, I’m pretty sure Ginny will spoil her rotten when she comes by the window.”

  
They grinned at each other.

* * *

 

  
But Hedwig never showed up.

  
Ron waited and waited and waited and no owl ever showed up. Errol returned time and again with no letter so he assumed they’d been delivered, but who could be certain? The ancient owl did not have the best eyesight anymore. He flew in a jittery, about to fall from the sky sort of way. What if Errol had gotten lost? What if he was delivering his letters to some muggle who spent his mornings scratching his head wondering who Ron was and what the joke was supposed to be? What if the letters were scattered about all over the place and random individuals were reading the private things that Ron had been telling Harry? Losing their minds over the bits and pieces of moving pictures?

  
Hermione had mentioned it was odd that pictures in the magical world moved. Just as odd, he supposed, as Ron found the idea of pictures standing still. Wasn’t the whole point to capture a moment? Not a single second.

  
But muggles worked with what they had and according to Hermione they had moving picture ‘movies’ that lasted an hour and a half long, so their worlds weren’t so different. They’d just coped differently, created differently.

  
“Do you even have any shirts left?” Fred called as he walked by.

  
Ron frowned before looking down at his shirt and grimacing at the long strands of ripped cloth his sleeves had become. Mum would be pissed if she saw this. Maybe he could just… fold the sleeve up a little and sew it without her noticing?

  
Ron wandered the rooms before passing by Percy’s door, stopping suddenly as an idea came to him. He knocked, waiting impatiently for his big brother to answer, hearing the sounds of various books being moved and papers shoveling. The prefect had probably buried himself in his work again.

  
The door swung open with a creak and Percy blinked at him not unlike an owl.

  
“Ron, what is it? I’m very busy.”

  
“Um… I was hoping, you see I’ve been sending letters to my friend, but I’m not sure if Errol has been delivering them to the right place…” Ron trailed off, watching Percy hopefully.

  
“Sorry, Ron, I’ve got my hands full this year. Hermes has been delivering letters almost none stop. He’s not even here right now.”

  
Ron hummed in disappointment, pulling at his sleeves again. Percy peered down at him, grabbing at his fingers.

  
“What’s got you so stressed?”

  
“Um, nothing, I’m not stressed.”

  
Percy’s eyebrows cocked high into his hairline.

  
“Really now?” Percy said slowly, eyeing him up and down. “Because my baby brother telegraphs worse that Bill with a crush when he’s worried about something. If you aren’t tugging at your sleeves then your rubbing your neck and if your not doing that then your pacing about the house like a caged animal. You sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

  
Ron’s fingers jerked to grab at the sleeves again, but Percy’s fingers were still holding tight onto his own. The dead stare made him fold with a huff.

  
“Fine. I’m worried about Harry.”

  
“Your friend from school? The Potter boy?”

  
“He said some things, about the muggles he lives with…” Ron glanced at Percy and was relieved to see his brother was taking him seriously. “It wasn’t good, Perce, they’re pretty nasty to him and he hasn’t responded to my letters and its not like him. Not at all.”

  
“Hm,” Percy said thoughtfully, staring off into the distance. “That’s a hard situation. There’s not really much we can do except inform the administration at the school or the Ministry itself. When Herme’s gets back, I’ll make sure to get in contact with the proper authorities and see if they can investigate the situation, alright?”

  
He supposed, in Percy speak, that was supposed to be reassuring, but Ron knew from the amount of complaining dad did that the Ministry was unlikely to move with any sort of urgency. And the likelihood of them investigating a muggle home, even Harry Potter’s muggle home, seemed entirely too unlikely for his tastes.

  
As for the school, well Ron wasn’t too impressed with their decisions last year seeing as they kept a dangerous stone in a school full of kids and a really scary dog to guard said dangerous stone. Plus Dumbledore hired Snape. Maybe Ron wasn’t an adult yet, but it seemed to him that anyone who would hire Snape to teach kids didn’t really deserve too much credit.

  
But for Percy this was the same as marching valiantly into the cross fires of a heated battle so Ron put on his best smile for his reclusive big brother.

  
“Thanks, Perce, that means a lot.”

  
Percy beamed.

  
“Now,” Percy said with a knowing look about his eye, “don’t you think you should get started on that summer coursework?”

  
Ron shuffled guiltily about and nodded, heading for the stairs. If his parents wouldn’t help and Percy was going to go about things the long way then Ron would have to try to figure something out for himself.

  
And then things became even worse at dinner that night.

  
“Ron, my boy, come here for a second, will you?”

  
“Um, sure?” Ron said trotting after his dad. He saw the twins glancing at each other, but neither of them made a comment. “What is it?”

  
“Well, see,” Arthur Weasley mumbled something under his breath. “Have you heard anything from your friend? The boy, Harry Potter?”

  
Alarm flared through him so hot that Ron found himself clutching at his dad’s arms.

 

“Why? Is he okay? Is everything alright? What happened?”

  
His father blinked at him, as if taking everything in.

  
“Well, yes, everything is alright, but you see, your friend received a warning.”

  
“A warning? For what?”

  
“Use of magic in front of muggles. I’m sure its nothing, kids are want to show off in front of their friends or to produce magic accidentally at times, simply inconvenient timing, I’m sure.”

  
Ron felt his mind going a mile a minute.

  
Harry would never risk being expelled form Hogwarts over something stupid and he didn’t have friends outside of Hogwarts either. There was no way he would use magic unless he absolutely had to. Something had happened and it seemed to be the awful kind of something.

  
“I don’t think so. Dad, can we please go check up on him? He wouldn’t have used it for something stupid, I’m sure.”

  
Arthur watched him carefully, his eyes considering.

  
“The Ministry delivered a message to Harry and his guardians, besides, if it was big magic, there would have been more than a warning, there would have been an investigation. I was just curious if he’d written you.”

  
Ron shook his head.

  
“Dad, you don’t understand, this is Harry.”

  
And really, if Hermione were here, she’d have understood what he meant. His dad just patted him on the shoulder in a manner that was more placating than reassuring.

  
“He is perfectly safe, Ron, there’s no need to worry.”

  
“But he isn’t!” Ron snapped. “Dad, he’s not, those muggles are…”

  
“Ronald!” Arthur said sternly. “Now, I thought we taught you better than to judge a family by their blood status.”

  
“That’s not what I meant…” Ron said morosely.

  
Why wasn’t anyone listening to him?

  
“Dad, they’re not good people,” Ron tried again.

  
“And what makes you think that?” His father asked, but his features were hard and Ron knew that he was being misunderstood. His dad wasn’t hearing what he was saying. He let out a puff of frustration, pulling at his sleeves so hard that a small hole formed right at the edge.

  
“Harry mentioned some things,” Ron said reluctantly, already feeling as if he’d lost the battle. “Said they took his Hogwarts letter away from him, didn’t celebrate his birthday, treated him badly.”

  
“Muggles don’t understand some times. Magic can scare them and make them act irrationally,” Arthur said, for the first time looking a little uneasy, “but Dumbledore himself placed him in that house and while things might not be the greatest, he is safe and loved, I’m sure.”

  
He was starting to hate when adults said they were sure. He hated that no one seemed to believe him and wondered if the problem was really that he was a kid or if it was because he was Ron. If Percy had told him the same thing would his dad have acted differently? If Fred and George had told him that Lee was being mistreated would they have been treated seriously?

  
Or was it because Harry Potter was the person Ron insisted was being mistreated? Were people really so wrapped up in the idea of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ that they were unwilling to see his best mate?

  
Ron pulled away from his dad, feeling a heavy stare on his back as he marched into the living room and sat on the couch, reminded of another conversation here not so long ago.

  
_‘Are you absolutely certain he was sorted into Gryffindor?’_

  
Ron’s fists clenched.

  
It was bad enough he couldn’t really compete with his brothers, but to be questioned in how he got into Gryffindor? The house of the Just, the Brave, the Honorable. The house of lions. A house of pride. Both Weasley’s and Prewitt’s had always been sorted into Gryffindor.

  
A tiny bit of shame burst into existence in his chest.

  
Was he really so different from the rest of his family?

  
Ron looked outside of the window, a dismal amount of light filtering through as the sun began to set. Outside he could see Ginny picking flowers out in the field, no doubt the screaming water lilies from the shallow water canal she liked so much. Noisy little things that made noises like bees to ward off insects from taking its nectar. From here, he could see the top of the garage’s skylight, the glass broken and cracked in places, dirty beyond belief, but if he stood on tip toes he could clearly see the Ford Anglia, the piece of junk waiting patiently for his dad to perform some sort of demented spell work on its gears and wires.

  
He paused, staring down thoughtfully at the machine even as he heard his mum call out for them to come down for dinner. He saw Ginny wiping her hands on her dress, leaving muddy prints across the yellow surface mum was sure to be surly about. Fred and George swept passed him, making a ruckus, Percy, a much more dignified walk.

  
Ron followed, no longer pulling at his sleeves.

* * *

 

  
There were about twenty different places his mum could stuff his dead body in around the house, where not a soul would ever find him, and Ron couldn’t decide which one she’d find most appropriate for the stunt he was about to pull.

  
The keys ‘clanked’ and ‘jangled’ and made so much noise as he pulled them out of the drawer that Ron thought each one might have stopped his heart. There was a definitive flat line as the drawer made a horrible screeching sound as he closed it. He paused all movement, listening for the sound of his other coming to skin him alive.

  
The familiar thud of her overly worn boots never hit the steps though. No shouts demanding what he was doing, no disapproving noises from Perce to indicate he’d been caught. No twins hollering and whooping having caught Ron doing the misdeed. No little sister running in, part gleeful, part indignant that Ron hadn’t involved her.

  
Nothing.

  
He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the back door open and very carefully slipped out into the night. The summer air was warm against his skin, but he still shivered as he looked down at the map. It was very nearly a hundred and fifty miles to where Harry lived and it would take him several hours to get there.

  
Theoretically he knew how to drive the car, but he hadn’t ever really taken it off the ground before and this was all very… well, not a good idea at all. He didn’t have a choice though. He’d gone through all of his options and had been left with having to either sit tight and wait while he knew bad things were happening or…

  
Or he had to do something about the problem himself.

  
Ron straightened his spine and marched over to the garage, opening the doors up as quietly as he could. They were well oiled, probably too much, since his dad had been a bit too thrilled with the idea of slicking them the muggle way. There were traces of the black, greasy stuff still on the hinges.

  
Quietly, Ron opened the door and hopped into the front seat, feeling the wheel in front of him and struggling to see over the seat. Well, this was problematic. He adjusted the levers on the side, feeling a giddy sense of excitement as the seat magically lifted him up.

  
Yes.

  
He could do this.

  
Mum was going to kill him when she found out, but by then it would be too late. Harry would be here and he would be safe and that was all that…

  
“Well, hello!”

Ron jumped out of his skin, twisting around to see the grinning faces of two demonic spawns.

  
“Into the back seat, Ronniekins, I’m driving and George is telling me where to go,” Fred announced.

  
Before Ron could ask what the hell they thought they were doing, he found himself bodily hefted and tossed like a potato over the rim of the front seat and into the back. He landed with a ‘oomph,’ and found himself struggling to right himself even as the engine revved to life and the car lurched out of the garage doors.

  
“What are… how did…?” Ron sputtered.

  
“You are so obvious when you’re up to something,” George dismissed. “Its rather sad, actually, a bit of a problem.”

  
“Luckily for you, we figured it was best to encourage your initiative and daring rather than squash it like a bug!” Fred piped up.

  
“But…”

  
“You’re going to get Harry, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question George was asking, more of a statement. “With the way you’ve been going on about him not returning your letters, we figure its either an unhealthy crush or something’s wrong.”

  
Ron blushed, shaking his head and opening his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

  
“We figured as much,” Fred said, shifting the gear as they went higher and higher, disappearing from view both magically and physically. “Ginny has the unhealthy crush down pat so we figured your anxious little mother henning probably had something to do with the latter.”

  
Ron hesitated before nodding.

  
“Right, so we’ll just skip on over to…” George studied the map, scrunching his nose. “Blimey, halfway across bloody England, I guess, rescue Harry and hopefully be back before mum has kittens a few kneazles aside.”

  
Ron looked at his brothers appreciatively, feeling an immense amount of gratitude for them in that moment.

  
“Thank you.”

  
Fred tutted, turning on the radio station to a late night Quidditch review as they flew through the air.

  
“None of that. We only just got our Seeker, it wouldn’t do to have him be in bad shape when he arrives at Hogwarts.”

  
George rolled his eyes, nudging Fred and giving him a look. Fred sighed before waving his hand back at Ron, keeping his eyes forward the whole time.

  
“Alright, alright, we’ve been worried. For Harry, sure, but mostly for you. You haven’t been yourself and all of this… worrying you’ve been doing seems like its done a number on you.”

  
“As much as you can be a pain,” George added, “you’re our little brother and it doesn’t sit well with us when you get all worked up like this.”

  
Ron grinned, rubbing his noise even as he felt his ears burn from embarrassment.

  
“Don’t make this a habit, okay?” Fred said easily, purposefully keeping his voice light.

  
“I won’t.”

* * *

 

  
Shock slammed into him upon seeing Harry’s window. Ominous bars crossing the expanse of the glass as he stared inside at familiar face of his best friend sleeping restlessly on the dingy little bed. The bare room and walls and floor contrasted with the overly flowery, expensive looking home and Ron was caught somewhere between deep loathing for these muggles and a need to get Harry out as soon as possible.

  
He crawled out of the back window, jiggling the bars as hard as he could. They wouldn’t budge. The noise woke Hedwig though, who hooted loudly at him through her own cage.

  
“Shhhh, its alright, I’m here to get you out,” Ron reassured.

  
Hedwig quieted instantly.

  
Good bird.

  
“Ron!” Breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. “Ron, how did you… what the…?”

  
Harry’s mouth fell open and his head bobbed up and down as Ron saw him eye first the car then Ron like a broken toy. He leaned out of the back window, feeling a grin spread across his face. It was good to see Harry in one piece, though looking like a tussled, ragged, sleep deprived version of himself.

  
“Alright, Harry?” George asked from the front seat.

  
Ron couldn’t stop himself any longer.

  
“What’s been going on?” Ron demanded. “Why haven’t you been answering any of my letters? I’ve asked you to stay about twelve times, and Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for using magic in front of muggles…”

  
“Wasn’t me- and how did he know?” Harry asked, looking bewildered and lost.

  
“He works for the Ministry,” Ron explained quickly. “You know we’re not supposed to do spells outside school…”

  
He was prodding for information, watching Harry carefully, trying to gouge what had happened.

  
“You should talk,” Harry said, eyeing the floating car.

  
Right. Well, that was a bit odd, wasn’t it? Even in the wizarding world, people tended to prefer brooms. This odd little mix of muggle and wizarding magic was probably really throwing Harry off.  
“Oh, this doesn’t count,” Ron insisted. “We’re only borrowing this. IT’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with…”

  
“I told you, I didn’t- but it’ll take too long to explain now. Look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursley’s have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days so…” Harry rambled nervously, sounding desperate.

  
As if Ron was going to leave him here with these monsters.

  
“Stop gibbering,” Ron cut his friend off, feeling a thrill of excitement run through him. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

  
“But, you can’t magic me out either.”

  
Oh, yee of little faith, Ron tutted in amusement.

  
“We don’t need to,” he answered, jerking his head towards the front seat where he knew Fred and George were internally cackling like the mad, reckless souls they were. “You forget who I’ve got with me.”

  
“Tie that around the bars,” Fred called, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

  
“If the Dursley’s wake up, I’m dead,” Harry whispered, genuine fear in his voice.

  
Ron had to bat his anger away. Right now was about getting Harry out. The sound of Fred revving up the car drowned out his own thoughts. Ron helped Harry to tie the rope to the bars, stepping back.

  
“Don’t worry,” Fred said, “and stand back.”

  
He watched Harry move quickly out of the way, standing next to his owl. There was a crunching noise and suddenly the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight into the air. Ron held on tight, feeling his body jerk back and forth at the action. He clung to the windows ledge and quickly grabbed onto the robe, hauling the bars up with a great deal of effort. He felt sweat slide down his forehead but did not dare let go to wipe it away. The moment he tugged the cursed metal into the back seat, he was leaning out the window again as Fred back the car closer and closer to the gaping window, bits and pieces of the plaster and ledges crumbling away.

  
“Get in,” Ron hissed.

  
“But all of my Hogwarts stuff- my wan, my broomstick…”

  
“Where is it?”

  
“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can’t get out of this room…”

  
“No problem,” George interrupted their quiet conversation from the front passenger seat. “Out of the way, Harry.”

  
Ron could feel the car being put in park. Sitting idly in the air, humming lightly as he watched Fred and George slip out of the car and through the window. He heard them whispering to Harry and opening the door, but didn’t quite catch what was being said.

  
He got the gist though as Harry hurried to hand his stuff over to him. Ron took it all, putting books and odd nick nacks and clothes into the empty foot area of the car. When Harry, Fred and George came up with the trunk, he heaved it in with both arms, moving over so that Fred could slip in and pull with him.

  
“A bit more,” he heard Fred pant. “One good push…”

  
Harry and George threw their shoulder’s against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

  
“Okay, let’s go,” George said frantically.

  
George swung himself out the window and Ron grabbed hold of him, hauling him over the back seat and into the front, much like the Fred had done to him earlier, but as Harry climbed onto the windowsill to follow the owl made a loud screeching noise. Ron hurt the angry grunt and yell of a man from another room.

  
“I’ve forgotten Hedwig!” Harry whispered in horror. Ron watched as he leaped off the sill and across the room, grabbing the caged bird before practically diving out the window. Ron quickly moved the cage out of the way, tucking the indignant, angry creatures in front of his feet before rushing to grab hold of Harry.

  
What he saw was not anything that Ron had imagined. He’d thought that Harry’s family would look at least a little like him, but the thing that had just banged open the door was nothing short of a nightmarish blob of a human. As wide as he was tall and red in the face with such anger and hatred that Ron knew he’d be having nightmares about him for months to come.

  
Ron grabbed at Harry’s arms and shoulders, feeling George do the same beside him, but the lumbering blob moved much quicker than he expected, leaching onto Harry’s ankle.

   
“Petunia!” Roared the man. “He’s getting away! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”

  
Fred reached his arm back and together the three of them heaved Harry as far away from the deranged lunatic as possible. He reached forward and yanked the car door closed in the quickly plum coloring face.

  
“Put your foot down, Fred!” He screamed out.

  
The car shot forward. Feeling relieved and horrified in one fell swoop, Ron couldn’t seem to let Harry go. Not for one second. He had Harry gripped around the shoulders as he heaved in air, watching in bewilderment and amusement as a grin spread across Harry’s face and the green eyed git shot his head out the car window.

  
“See you next summer!” Harry hollered.

  
He heard Fred and George hooting with laughter and felt a case of relieved giggles slip out of himself. They’d done it. They’d freed his best friend. Harry was safe. He was here. He was alive and well and they were on their way to the Burrow where they all belonged.

  
Ron squeezed Harry’s shoulders in complete and utter relief. All the stress he’d been feeling these last few weeks washed away from him and he was filled with too much energy suddenly.

  
He was a Gryffindor.

  
A lion. 

  
He was Harry Potter’s best friend and he was never, ever going to let anyone tell him that he couldn’t go and save Harry ever again. Those bars, those filthy, awful muggles, this shaking, smiling, relieved, best mate of his who’d clearly been mistreated and imprisoned was never going to spend a full holiday with those monsters.

  
He vowed in the back seat of his family’s car, that he would always do everything in his power to make sure Harry stayed with him and that Ron protected him as much as possible. No adult would ever tell Ron Weasley that Harry Potter was perfectly safe, never again.

  
Ron let go of his sleeve to put a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder.

  
“So,” Ron said slowly, “what’s the story, Harry? What’s been happening?”

  
Harry’s shaking came to a stop. Green eyes met blue and sparked to life, despite the late hour and the long journey ahead for all of them. There was no ink and no paper. No owl to deliver letters. Instead Harry was here, right next to him, with all the eagerness and life he’d had at Hogwarts.

  
Harry told him his story. 


End file.
